


On Your Six

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:32:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: Write something fluffy with NO smut or angst! So sickeningly sweet that our teeth fall out 🤪😘





	On Your Six

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tumbler_Tidbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tumbler_Tidbits/gifts).



“Amara,” Dean calls to his 11-year-old daughter. “Get a move on – we’re late!”

“Daddy, I can’t find my scrunchie,” Amara huffs from somewhere upstairs.

“You got about a million of those things, just grab one and let’s go,” Dean says with Level 10 irritation on the scale of scrunchie dramatics as he snaps the cap on his travel mug full of dark roast.

“But it’s my _lucky_ scrunchie!” Amara whines.

“Amara…” Dean sighs heavily and closes his eyes, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

She flies into the kitchen, dressed in a pair of threadbare black jeans and a black and white, patterned tank top. Around her neck is a lanyard holding her school ID and several other random baubles. The whole outfit looks a mess to Dean, but he stopped trying to understand pre-teen girl fashion last year when she requested said pair of shredded jeans.

“I have a _test_ today, Daddy,” she says, yanking the junk drawer open. “I can’t take a _test_ without my lucky _scrunchie_.” She rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Kid, I swear to God-”

“Here it is!” she exclaims, holding it aloft, victorious, before pushing her fist through the scrunchie. She grins ear-to-ear at him as she shoulders her bag then breezes past him on her way out the door. “C’mon, Daddy,” she says, skipping toward the truck. “We’re gonna be late.”

In the car, Dean divides his attention between watching the road over the top of his aviators and trying not to growl at Amara as she fiddles with the radio. She’s messing with his presets while simultaneously texting her best friend Eve and chattering about her English teacher’s bad breath.

They pull into the drop-off lane, and Dean looks over at his quickly growing 11-year-old.

“Try to eat something green today, Daddy,” she says before pecking his cheek and turning to open her passenger door.

“Sometimes I think you forget who the parent is here,” Dean says, leaning across the console as if he can stay in her sphere that way a few seconds longer.

“It’s basic science – you are what you eat,” she says hopping out of the truck and slamming the heavy door. She peeks into the open window one last time. “Also: single mom on your six.”

Dean’s eyes dart to his rearview mirror where Rhonda Hurley is practically breathing down his neck from her vehicle into his. “Crap,” he says under his breath.

“Yeah,” Amara giggles. “I love you, and I’ll see you after practice.” She grins before bouncing off, calling out to her friends ahead of her.

Dean uses his entire body to roll his eyes before pulling away from the drop-off, trying to get out of there as fast as possible without hitting any kids or other cars. It isn’t easy, and he earns a couple of WTF honks from other parents, to which he replies with the obligatory _sorrynotsorry_ wave.


End file.
